my first memory:
looking into my reflection,
desperate
to find something
that could anchor me to myself,
and jerking back with a scream
because
this could not be me

 

--i still can't remember
if it was a dream
or reality

 

(i don't know who i am)

 

--the sky at dusk is
soft,
and something within me settles,
a battle forsaken
until the day begins again

 

(i was here, i was here, i was here)

 

--i was told once
that my aura
is fields dusted in gold,
something gentle and
beginning

 

(when i press my thumb to my wrist,
skin to delicate skin,
i become aware
of the blood in my veins,
of my heart beating steadily,
of how easy it would be
for everything to stop)

 

--in autumn i pressed my hands to my eyes
and thought
of all the ways i could end
and wished for just one chance

 

(i have never wanted to exist,
or at least not like this)

 

--weariness sinks to my bones
and clings,
pulling me down with its weight
and my own desire
to just give in

 

(what am i,
if not nothing?)

 

--who am i,
if not this?

 

(i don't know. i don't know. i don't know.)